


memories tend to just pop up

by marriottsmushrooms



Series: can't even tell if this is a dream [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Don't smoke kids it's not cool, Getting Together, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Party, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marriottsmushrooms/pseuds/marriottsmushrooms
Summary: It seems like a sad scene from a vintage movie, the colourful lights, the cigarette smoke. The muffled music.





	memories tend to just pop up

**Author's Note:**

> Hello me again long time no see
> 
> Don't smoke please it's not cool and it's very bad
> 
> Love you all  
> Hope you're having a great day
> 
> -MM
> 
> title from 'don't threaten me with a good time' by panic! at the disco

"Oh! You- uh, you're smoking," George declares quietly, eyebrows raised in silent shock. The bottle in his hand almost slips out of his grip.

James looks over at him, and sighs, plucking the short stick from between his lips and pushing it into the concrete wall of their balcony. It crumbles into ash, and James discards it on the table. When he breathes out, rolls of pale grey smoke bleed into the air before dissipating. George watches James curiously.

"I didn't know you did that," he shrugs, slowly shutting to door and leaning against it, eyes on James. The party continues inside, the music still able to be heard even past the balcony door, the shuffling and jumping of tens of people still sending vibrations to their feet. Colourful light still spills through the glass, and George becomes ever aware of the short time they have left until midnight.

"Not a lot," James clarifies, leaning further against the wall. He focuses on the sky, desperately wanting to avoid the same conversation. He knows George is only going to tell him that it does no good. "Started in school, been on and off since then. It's not a problem."

George rolls his eyes. James _would_ say that.

"How often do you smoke?" He asks, watching James tug another cigarette from the box on the table, labeled with big warnings, and place it between his lips. James pulls out his lighter, and George recognises it as one of the cheap ones, made with neon plastic that last about a week. James turns it over in his hands, but makes no move to light the cigarette.

George wonders why James does it. It doesn't matter, and George doesn't particularly want to ask, however he can't help but wonder if James would benefit more by meeting with friends, going out and having fun instead of sitting on the balcony at his own apartment, smoking until he runs himself dry of cigarettes. George supposes he can't talk, and looks down at the bottle in his hand. He puts it on the floor.

It seems like a sad scene from a vintage movie, the colourful lights, the cigarette smoke. The muffled music.

"Once, twice a year," James shrugs as if its nothing. He lets the unlit cigarette drop from his mouth, catching it quickly. He swipes up the box again, and pulls out another one, until two cigarettes sit between his fingers.

"Do you want one?" He asks, finally looking at George, and raising his eyebrows.

George is a little taken aback, conflicted, however he decides that just one can do no harm, and nods with a shrug.

"C'mere," James coos softly, swiftly placing one of the cigarettes between his own lips, and handing the other one to George, who looks down at it aimlessly. "You-"

James takes it back with a short scoff and a smile, and George looks up with wide eyes as James reaches forward, and gently pulls George's lips apart with his thumb. Placing it his teeth, which bite gently around the unfamiliar cigarette, he steps back.

"There you go," James smiles, as George's fingers move up to hold it into place. James steps closer to him again, his own lips wrapped around his cigarette, and places his hand on the side of George's face. George doesn't know what they're doing until the ends of their cigarettes meet, and James's thumb drags across the top of the lighter, and the space is suddenly lit from the tiny flame. George swallows as James's other thumb smooths over his cheekbone gently, and he looks up at James, who's eyes are trained on the flame licking at the ends of both their cigarettes. When the embers at the end of both of them glow, James pulls the lighter away and their small bubble of light is gone.

George leans against the barrier, separating him from the drop down. He hasn't smoked since his teenage years, but it brings back refreshing memories of his friends all sat behind the school. Memories of everyone chipping in, stray pound coins and silvers and coppers, and sending one of his friend's brothers to pick them up a packet. He can't help but smile.

He didn't think he'd be here. Not three hours ago, arriving at James' just before the party was set to start, pack of beers and a Bluetooth speaker in hand. He didn't think this was where he would be at five minutes to midnight on New Year's Eve. He expected to be dancing, drinking, hands on the waist of some girl that he vaguely recognises, who he's planning on kissing when the clock strikes twelve.

Instead, he's starting up old habits, sat outside with a friend that he didn't even know was a smoker. Instead he's watching the skyline, sighing breaths of smoke at the sky. Instead, he feels simultaneously out of place and also like he fits in perfectly, and it's obscure. He stands out when he's out here, however he blended in with the crowd.

He turns to James, who seems deep in though, eyebrows burrowed slightly as he watches the buildings in front of them glow, hundreds of golden squares fixed together.

"Kiss me at midnight?" George asks, completely out of the blue. He's only slightly tipsy, and he watches James look at him and smile.

Somehow, for some reason, he's not scared, and George thinks it might be because of James, how vulnerable he seems, stood alone outside and filling his lungs with poison. George supposes he's no better, he's following in James' footsteps. George feels so out of character, smoking on his balcony and kissing pretty boys surrounded by moonlight. Maybe this was how his year was supposed to start, maybe it was supposed to be this way.

"Yeah, okay," James shrugs. George doesn't think about it. He knows that if he lets himself think, he'll drive himself insane, and he doesn't need that.

The countdown comes quickly, unexpectedly so, arriving with excited cheers and the music stopping abruptly. George pulls his cigarette out whilst James smushes his into the wall. It's quick, how fast the numbers go, and George steps close to James, looking in his eyes like they belong to each other. He knows they don't.

As one hits, and the cheers start, dampened by lips against lips and carried by the people to awkward to kiss, their lips meet. George doesn't know what to feel, doesn't know when to pull away- but James only pulls him closer, broad hands on George's waist, pressing their bodies together- so hot even in the cold air.

George clutches desperately at James, one hand bunched in his jacket, the other one connected to the arm slung around his neck, cigarette between his fingers.  
James tastes like mint, and smoke, and that shitty alcohol that Alex bought, which tastes awful. It's not worth pulling away for, George concludes. It tastes like James, it smells like James, it feels like James, and that's all George could ask for.

When the kiss comes to a close and they're panting for breath, George doesn't stop looking in James' eyes. He can't pull himself away, no matter how hard he tries. He feels like he's glued to James, it's impossible to move away, but he loves it. He doesn't think about the consequences, or what either of them will say tomorrow morning. He can't focus- not when James leans back in and their lips meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> hello pls send things u want me to write and I will


End file.
